THE FLIGHT

How do the days press on, and lay

Their fallen locks at evening down,

Whileas the stars in darkness play

And moonbeams weave a crown —

A crown of flower-like light in heaven,

Where in the hollow arch of space

Morn's mistress dreams, and the Pleiads seven

Stand watch about her place.

Stand watch — O days no number keep

Of hours when this dark clay is blind.

When the world's clocks are dumb in sleep

‘ Tis then I seek my kind.